


I've been to Nice and the isle of Greece and I've sipped Champagne on a yacht

by 3White_Mage3



Category: The Losers (2010), The Losers (Comic), The Losers - All Media Types
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-24
Updated: 2014-08-24
Packaged: 2018-02-14 13:23:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2193375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/3White_Mage3/pseuds/3White_Mage3
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And he's feeling all slinky (and cheap) but confused. Underneath is all is this IMMENSE feeling of exhaustion and relief and terror that he's finally found someone who might allow him to stop searching and chasing and running and hiding and grasping and climbing and waking up every morning hating himself because. And there are so many becauses.</p><p>There's this guy in a stupid old beat up cowboy hat that he's probably won in some stupid poker game somewhere, a guy with no money, no name, no yacht and just the most beautiful eyes ever, gentle eyes full of wonder that something as sweet and exotic as JJ could possibly exist in this tired old beaten down world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I've been to Nice and the isle of Greece and I've sipped Champagne on a yacht

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jujitsuelf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jujitsuelf/gifts).



Fuck. Bitch. Piss. Hell.

A head that aches like a motherfucker. At least you're waking up to good sheets this time. A decent thread count means that you did something right last night. But this is not the way to get ready for a gangbuster night at The Casino. What's a guy to do when the rent is coming due? You buck up and ya carry on. That's what. You soldier on. That's why you let yourself out of the hotel suite with as little notice as possible. And that's why you crawl onto the bus instead of taking a cab. You know to ignore the disapproving looks of the North African workers making their early morning way to their own jobs.

It doesn't mean it doesn't sting though. Doesn't mean that debilitating worm of doubt mixed with terror doesn't come crawling in. Truth be told history shows that that worm usually settles in about 5 in the morning when all the champagne has been put away, the little magical mirror is clean of all the magical white powder, the sex is done, and all those good-timing hangers-on have just melted magically away into the morning. Back to daddy's suite or yacht or villa. All what's left is the recognition that there's ALWAYS someone younger, more beautiful, tighter. 

The reminder that that person used to be you.

At least you got the bracelet. And while that might seem the obvious, immediate answer to the rent problem you're smart enough to know that it takes some glamor to attract the guys who can make it all worthwhile in the end. There's still hope after all. Right? So you'll try to hang on to the bracelet as long as you can. Until things gets too tight again. 

Of course as the years (let's be fair and honest among friends, decades) have passed, the definition of "worthwhile" has changed. Several times. Worthwhile used to be defined as moving through Monte Carlo like a princess and basking in all the attention. Then the real princesses came and you were shunted aside and their wombs were found to be a thousand times more attractive than your attributes.

To be fair, that happened once. And she was the princess of some long-ago principality which didn't even make it on the post-1918 maps.

Okay, it happened many times. But you soldiered on.

And if truth be told, none of those times over the years has been exactly an upgrade in expectations. There was that first time in Georgia (what were you, 17?) when you were begging to be "discovered" and it was all too easy. Then on to California when it all seemed possible. The world was just an oyster waiting to be shucked. And fucked.

(That stupid bishop was just a mistake, another lesson learned.) But that tech startup entrepreneur. He had potential. You had a connection, you two. You did.

And at least Mr Pulon got you to Capri where he made it possible for you to sip a helluva lotta champagne on a helluva lotta people's yachts. A lot of champagne. A lot of yachts. A lot of people.

Before you found yourself in Marrakesh. And you were set. For a while. 

But that was then. And this is now. And now the music is swelling and you have a show to do. Monte Carlo is bursting at the seams tonight because it's the week before the Race and everyone who's anyone is here. That means it's time to put on the Face and the bracelet (because tomorrow it has to go to the pawn shop) and find that next fish in the sea. 

There's this guy in the audience sitting there wearing a stupid old beat up cowboy hat that he's probably won in some stupid poker game somewhere. Obviously a guy with no money, no name, no yacht. And just the most beautiful eyes ever. How did he even get in here? Gentle eyes full of wonder. Innocent eyes inquiring how something as beautiful and sweet and exotic as you could possibly exist in this tired old beaten down world. Eyes that could take you away to all those planets and realities you've sought for all those years.

And you're feeling all slinky and agonizingly cheap somehow. Underneath is this IMMENSE feeling of exhaustion and relief and terror that you've finally found someone who might allow you to stop searching and chasing and running and hiding and grasping and climbing and waking up every morning hating yourself. And you're thinking, maybe just one more roll of the dice for happiness? What the hell, right? Nothing left to lose and maybe a whole lotta happiness to be found.

**Author's Note:**

> Jake is NOT a woman here. You can figure it out and draw your own conclusions.  
> (Jake will never be a woman in my reality. But Cougar will always be his one and only and truly forever.)


End file.
